


Post Scriptum

by Miss Hiraya (Miss_Hiraya)



Category: SB19 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gore, I can't spoil everything but please heed the warnings, M/M, Porn with Feelings, SeKen - Freeform, With A Twist, explicit - Freeform, inspired by tag991uae interview, please, serial killers!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Hiraya/pseuds/Miss%20Hiraya
Summary: A postscript (P.S.) is an afterthought, thought that's occurring after the letter has been written and signed.[1] The term comes from the Latin post scriptum, an expression meaning "written after".-WikipediaKen, Sejun, and the love they share in between aftermaths of blood, screams, and death.
Relationships: Felip Jhon "Ken" Suson/John Paulo Nase | Sejun
Comments: 26
Kudos: 20





	1. [THREE]

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS IN BOLD, CAPITAL LETTERS FOR:
> 
> GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF BLOOD, VIOLENCE, DEATH, SELF-HARMING (SUICIDAL) THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS.
> 
> MINOR WARNINGS IN BOLD, CAPITAL LETTERS FOR:
> 
> MATURE THEMES (SEX).
> 
> This ain't for the faint of heart, hun. Underaged readers, below 18, please go back. 
> 
> I warned you. Please, heed them before proceeding. 
> 
> If you plan to proceed, then here's a warm, fuzzy blanket, a cookie and a glass of milk. You'll probably need it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to a start. Pay attention.

**[THREE...]**

Ken POV 

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The rain outside kept pouring. It's a cold evening. Inside this rat-infested four walls, the heat barely stayed. The noise outside was almost defeaning.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Six daggers on the opposite wall. They could be mistaken for decoration. Who knows? If Sejun had a seventh, this room would probably collapse into dust.

Sejun retrieved his daggers from the wall, passing the tiny TV we have inside the cramped space. The signal's barely even there, and the sounds almost came in static. In these times, they're counted as miracles. Even when it bore nothing but bad news.

These days, bad news is news. There were no good ones. Just shortages, deaths, governments panicking, economies thrown into garbage bins, serial killers, the "flu" that's going around…

No good news.

  
_Thud. Thud. Thud._

I reached over, pretending that the palm on his thigh was only to support my weight as I went to pick one of his knives. He scoffed, nailing his target anyway even with me blocking half his vision.

 _Thud_.

"Ninerbyos ka, no?" I said, turning to him as I landed his dagger next to his on the poor wall. 

"Nope. He's an easy one."

Lester Q. Ajero. Twenty four years old male. Height, 5'7". Weight, 60 kg. Tall guy, medium build. Lifts weights. Nearsighted; he wears thick glasses. A Gemini. 

A certified scaredy cat. 

"Yeah." I smiled. 

**_Thud!_ **

The last dagger resonated louder than before and it hit the center of the picture of a mug shot pinned to the wall.

The time read 8:38 PM. Just a few minutes before 9:00 PM. We waited, patiently. Religiously even, that it's ridiculous. I sighed and leaned back on the headboard, thumbing the sheets.

Hmm, smelled like strawberries. Strawberries are quite rare nowadays, especially in this city. There's also a hint of smoke and stray ashes when I looked closer.

Smoker, huh? Alright. People have this weird obsession with contradictions. It's funny. They go to church and walk out like saints as they cuss and steal and slander. They go to the gym to bust up a lung and then smoke to bust the other lung.

They smile, cheerful and innocent and full of life like they can't harm a fly. And yet they leave baseball bats behind their doors just to be sure. 

They hide guns under the pillows just to feel safe. And yet they forget to lock the windows.

They act like they're living, when they're not.

Sejun looked bored already with his little game, while I opened the drawers to find some nicotine treasure. I made sure not to jostle the Doraemon speaker and the piece of paper pinned under it as it sits on top of the desk. It's a note that will be useful later. 

The room is untidy. Well. We made it so. That too, will be useful.

The nicotine is just my guilty pleasure. I'm sure Sejun doesn't mind kissing me with it.

I finished one before Sejun returned the favor from earlier. Like most things he does, he went an extra mile by straddling on my lap and pulling the hair on my nape in for a searing kiss. He buckled his hips in a way that sent me reeling into another dimension. I groaned, catching those sinful lips and sucking on it until he relented and moaned my name not so quietly. He looked innocent when he pulled back, wetting his lips with a pink tongue that he knew I am hard for. 

His braces glinted against the poor lighting as he smiled childishly, but the gleam in his eyes was mischievous. Manic. Oh, he had the weirdest obsessions too. My soulmate.

"'Maya na, _langga~_ We can have our fun later. Padating na main course natin."

He nodded, but not without a happy smile on his face. He patted my cheek with his gloved hand patronizingly.

Lester Q. Ajero: he works at a near rundown bar until 8:30. He walks home at around 9:00, given he doesn't get distracted by the street food outside.

Well, there won't be any tonight. It's raining too hard for that. 

Sejun got off my lap and shut the tv before going to his place.   
  
And I counted. Six daggers, 

Five seconds,   
Four nicotine sticks,   
Three discarded rings,   
Two bullets,  
One.

One set of keys for one innocent man opening the door.

Lester Q. Ajero, an average adult who takes off his blotched and wet glasses in the dark as he searched for the light switch.

Sejun smiled from behind, baseball bat in hand.

* * *

  
Red liquid pooled from the sheets down to the old carpet. A hand outstretching forever into darkness; a pair of glassy eyes never finding the light of day again; and a silent scream forever echoing in the afterlife.

It was quite a normal picture.

Lester Q. Ajero. 

A dagger through each hand; a bullet each the skull and the ribcage. 

_Lester Q. Ajero._

He smelled like strawberries, smoke, and that disgusting smell tiny bars with poor ventilation and poor, unhygienic customers have. Now, sweet-smelling copper joined the fray.

His skin was unnaturally pale by the dim light. He could have lived. He could have.

His whole life a flash of good deeds and better karma. He never showed any other signs, either.

But it must be done.

We left where we came in, stepping on the ledge of the window and out from the back of the house. The rain was reduced to drizzle by now.

We both walked quietly for a mile to the car we parked beside the road, looking abandoned and stuck with three only three wheels like it's just a normal unlucky Tuesday for it's owners.

Sejun liked to hold my hand in the rain, and he loved the smell of a wet, chilly evening. But I don't mind his weird obsessions as long as I'm one of his. 

His hands didn't feel like the ones that pierced a dagger through somebody's wrists. Then again, I didn't look like I know my way around guns.

"Nasaktan ka ba?" He stopped me midway from stepping one foot further. 

_Sejun, love_. He never admits to any weakness, but I know when he's nervous and worried. This side of him makes me want to curl into a ball with him as my blanket, warm and fuzzy and safe.

"Nope," I said after a while of seriously checking on myself. Lester Q. Ajero was a big man, but only in his last moments did he struggle enough for both of us to feel the thrill. Adrenaline did only so much, though. Sometimes, it's not enough to stave the inevitability of death or the fear of it.

  
The smell of blood slowly faded with the rainshower. Oh, well. Small inconveniences can be small blessings, too.

* * *

It's hard to keep it together until we reach our own front steps. By the time we barely stumbled into our home, we're drunk and high and just wanting to devour each other and peel each other's skins. 

Sejun called this part our " _silly afterthoughts_ " like we're authors who forgot something after writing a book. Instead of pens, we used other sharper things, and we write in red the stories of endings. 

We gave in to the bliss of our so called afterthoughts until dawn. By that time, we've littered each other's skins with bites and marks, and bruises that we call love. I've had him so many times but I never get tired of his heat, his mixed bashful honesty peppered with playful danger.

When we sighed and finally sank together in a sloppy, sweaty pile, I could only look into his eyes and see the same lust, hunger, and undying affection.

A man after my own heart, indeed. 

I don't like the idea of afterthoughts. I'm a man who won't settle for an end without saying all the things I want. But this.. 

I wouldn't mind, as long as he's here. As long as he's mine.


	2. [TWO]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another one..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings. Same rules apply.

**[TWO...]**

  
Sejun POV

When your life is characterized by some days that are just exhilarating, one can't help but be frustrated on the days that nothing happens.

There are days when Ken goes out to scout, and I'm stuck in our house trying to find something to do. There's a guitar gathering dust inside the cabinet, but I don't really know how to play it. Ken does though, and he likes to play it everytime he's in and I'm willing to lend my voice alongside it.

There's also a pen and notebook in my hand. Ken gave me this. Well, we stole it, technically from a girl named Rose. She's dead now, by the way. She was the last girl we killed.

I wonder when's the next one.

Thinking over it only makes me miss those days, and it's not something I'd like to wallow in. Ken said it won't be long, we'll have another. It's just that, they are really hard to find these days.

How meddlesome.

The TV isn't of help even now. The news kept repeating the same things. Although, I liked it when the ones about us was involved. They never really went close to our trails, anyway. They're all imbeciles, or I'm just that good at planning.

Planning, while Ken scoops every detail we might need. It's his obsession, I guess, to know every little detail of them. He memorizes them. He speaks them like mantras, and sometimes they sound like prayers.

I, on the other hand, like to plan. Well. I don't like, like it. I rarely like anything these days. Ken is an exception. He always had been.

I play the cards he gives me and I play it well. He said my brain is as sexy as the rest of me, and I wouldn't object. It's the only thing I'm good at, except maybe, maiming things.

So instead of doing something new, find a hobby or something, I found myself in our room again staring at leaf of the notebook and the tip of the pen as it bleeds ink into the parchment. Ken said I could write. 

I couldn't write anything else but things about our latest main course.

He laughs whenever I say this. He'd ruffle my hair and he would think I don't see something else in his eyes that I don't recognize. I do.

I notice everything.

I wrote down plans, back up plans, and back up for back plans from sun up to sun down. I looked up from my notebook as soon as sunlight was replaced by a dim moonlight. I counted the seconds before I heard the car coming in to our driveway. 

Seconds until I heard the door downstairs unlock. Seconds until I heard footsteps up the stairs.  
Seconds until I saw the knob on our bedroom door twist.  
Seconds, until I saw his face again.  
  
Just like that, my world revolves once again.

He wore his casual outdoor clothes today. Under his green hoodie, I could still see the collar of his mechanic jumpsuit.

He's tense.

He slid next to my side and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of my head. He didn't need to ask, though.

I put the notebook and pen aside and pushed him gently into he mattress. He looked up to me, eyes alight but hazy with want. I leaned forward to put my lips above the vein on his neck, hands fiddling with the hem of his hoodie.

Without words, he wiggled his torso and helped me undress him out of his first layer fo clothes. Underneath, I finally saw his denim-colored jumpsuit. He's no mechanic, but he can pretend like one. Oh, and he looks good in it, too.

He'll look better with the tank top he wore underneath. But he'll look the best naked. 

"Sejun…" He breathed my name with a soft smile. His hands on my waist tightened just a little, pushing me down to the rapidly growing heat in his groin.

I reflected the quirk of his lips before I captured it. He let me in easily, and I drowned his moan with my tongue when my fingers began unbuttoning his suit and tracing his muscles along the way.

  
His muscles jerked to my touch, as desperate as I was. It's not until I grabbed his erection under his boxers that he threw his head back with a sigh. With a little pretense, I fondled him and watched his face slacken inevitably.

"S-sej…"

"Hmm?" A thumb over the slit and he almost whimpered. His body curled and tried to meet me halfway, but he knew the friction wasn't enough. Not quite yet.

"Anong gusto mo, _langga?_ " I smiled as he tried to gather his thoughts amidst my ministrations. It's a difficult task, I presumed. 

"Sej- _a.. ahh-_ naman!"

"Nope. Di yan kasama sa choices." I grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed. He almost choked. 

He could very well wrestle me and I'll be eventually submissive. The fact that he lets me do my way anyway, makes me feel more than a little loved.

He thrashed and gave my hip bruising grip, grunting. "Ikaw.. ikaw- _un_ \- please, dito-" 

Man of a few words. 

I got his answer anyway. Grinning, I kissed him open-mouthed until he's red and breathless. "Yes, sir."

* * *

When I woke up, I'm swaddled in our comforter and my entire body is sore. 

Ken's naked back is traced by the bed lamp, slightly stooped. He most definitely felt the mattress near him dip with my weight. I noticed him stiffen before relaxing forcedly. 

He's looking into that picture again. 

Group of five young teens, him included. Smiling, probably screaming their lungs out as they're in a karaoke. I don't recognize the faces and don't pretend to when he asked me about it once.

Ken, in his melancholic moments, is always accompanied by that picture. 

"We have to go. Ngayon na." 

He startled me when he broke the silence. Now? _Why?_

"He's leaving the place. Alam mo naman kung gaano kahirap siya hagilapin."

It's been months, yes. I am aware. Jay Cullen Santos is one slippery creature. He managed to hide himself for too long it makes my nerves tingle.

He's one good prey.

I sit up, ignoring the slight ache in my lower back and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I pressed my lips at the sharp of his broad, muscular shoulder.

"Okay. Here's the plan."

* * *

This is not one of the plans.

Jay Cullen Santos. Twenty seven, male. Height, 5'6". Weight, 55 kg. Deceptive build. He looks and makes himself smaller, but he's a well-built body. A jack of all trades but mostly a technician; he also has a poor vision but wears contacts. Libra. Knows a lot of people, knows a lot of things.

Very elusive.

And deceptively smart.

We're only a few feet away, one with the shadows. Jay Cullen Santos lives just beyond the train station, just right before the slums. The train tracks is empty by now, the last ones had gone an hour ago.

The best place would be in the town's dilapidated tunnel, where he goes to travel home at 5:00 AM. 

The man stopped in his tracks. 

This was not part of his routine. He never stops while inside the dark tunnel.

"Alam kong andyan na kayo."

He looked back, staring at nothingness. He missed us just by a couple of yards.

He shuffled on his feet, dragging his shoe over gravel as he shifted his backpack. Not a moment later, it fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

Relieving his heavy bag. Good one. He may also be armed, anyway. He's the smartest out of all of them so far.

Why did Ken give the go signal again?

"Paisang suyo lang, oh." He echoed quietly. 

I looked to Ken's direction, but he's already run his mouth. "Sure."

"Pakitanong sa katabi mo kung may naaalala na siya."

He most probably meant me. Ken has no other companion. He knew who was following him, well, to an extent. He knew there were two of us. 

The mind games are unexpected.

But ineffective.

The shuffling of his shoes against the pavement meant he was quickly sprinting away with that moment of confusion.

_Tick. Tick. Tok._

Without warning, I'm pulled by the arms with a familiar grip towards the exit. I struggled to my feet, "Ken, wha-"

The world explodes into a cacophony of noise that it deafens every sense of my being. A harsh force blew us off our feets just as we reached the end. Rocks, debris, dust, splinters- they're everywhere.

The ground rumbled and thundered beneath my fingertips.

It didn't stop for almost an eternity.

When I woke up, Ken was on me and my cheeks stung. My body was in more agony. I grunted, batting his hands.

This wasn't the kind of sore I wanted, but alright.

We stared at the remnants of the blasted tunnel. What a bastard. What a smart bastard.

"Help me up." I said, sounding like I swallowed glass. It might not be the farthest simile. Ken sighed in relief and helped me by the hand. 

We stepped around the smoking pile of disaster, not expecting a body. Jay Cullen Santos lead us almost through the tunnel, dropping a bomb on our feets as if he meant to bury three of us there.

But Jay Cullen Santos is nothing if not a selfish man who has a penchant for escapes.

He made sure to run as fast as he could, away and away. Like he expected us to stay rooted in that place like deers in the headlights.

That's where he's wrong. Very wrong.

When we reached the poles we planted on opposite sides of the tracks, most of the wires had already been cut and destroyed by the sheer impact.

Probably from the small blast.

Most definitely by the hard human body hitting on it. Just near the left, Jay Cullen Santos hung dangerously from the wires, limbs either pierced, strangled, sliced or in smaller chunks. See, normal people wouldn't just be like that. Corpses are more likely to be more fragile like this, since they've long rotten.

At the very least, we were accurate on the height.

  
No physical contact, too. We're safe from the infection. No need for suicide notes this time, too.


	3. [ONE]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The signs have been there, did you see? Or did you just watch?
> 
> Please heed the warnings.

**[ONE…]**

Ken POV

The year is 2025. People from the distant past decades would think the world will have been at the peak of its civilization but I would happily tell them humanity had just gotten worse, actually.

Of course, nobody predicted it. Not seriously. Fantasies of apocalypses and conspiracy theories and post-world disasters had always been a thing of entertainment, but now? Now, we're living the dream.

Isn't that _nice_?

It started from disbelief, denial, and outright mocking the warnings until the tides went so high it toppled governments and smaller countries overnight. Then came the panic; the endless, uncontrolled, anxiety as contagious as the " _flu_ " that's been going around. Then came the outrage, the massive influx of unstable emotions washing the people over and making them even more aggressive and reckless. And stupid.

Economies didn't ever stand a chance against the hoarde of the angry, paranoid, infected masses. The police, the military, the doctors, soon became human barricades- and it's not surprising they were slowly chipped away, too. Some didn't even last before the third wave started.

For a time, surviving the third seemed to be the worst part of this shit show. Well, not for long.

The fourth came along and finally people put up resistance. Third times a charm, but fourth times twice the charm, I guess. The fourth was more on the struggle of recovery from the massive, insurmountable losses. Not only nature suffered, but the people. More than the loss of limbs, their psyches had sustained the most damage from losing too many and experiencing too much.

Not that the doctors and scientists left even had the time, funds and numbers to address that problem.

The fourth was also (in)famous for one more thing: the evolution of the " _flu_ ". It took some time, and time too long, before the rest finally caught up. But yes, the "flu" had evolved from infecting with aggressive, mindless and movie-like zombie effects. Now, the infected behave and act like a normal, healthy human almost indistinctive to a carrier. 

It's like the human evolution again, from the apes to the thinking beings that we are now. Except worse.

  
"Nasaktan ka ba?" Sejun checked over to me, egen though he knew we both had no injuries after disposing Jay Cullen Santos, one of the fourth-wave infected people.

I knew him. I used to know him. He didn't. Not when I confronted him the first time and tried to gauge his reactions. Not when I faced him the last time even as he questioned Sejun's status as a last (clever) ditch attempt to throw us off.

When you're turned in fourth wave, the easiest feature you'll have is your memory loss of all your life before that unlucky moment. They called it "rebirth" as the virus practically invades your body and reboots your systems until it collapsed in on itself. After all, you're just considered as a slightly more intelligent moving corpse more than anything else.

To be fair, Jos- Jay Cullen Santos was a perfect example.

I shook my head at my partner. It would have been more of an optional answer, considering he's in the process of undressing and trailing kisses on my skin, anyways.

Our silly afterthoughts. I've grown to love that term. I realized that no matter how one tries to do and say everything in that letter, chances are, their will always be an afterthought too special not to be mentioned. 

My letter had long been finished when the world reached the end of its days. I've accepted its end as well as mine's. I'm done writing it, even. 

But I have Sejun, my heart and my soul, and he's my silly afterthought in all this chaos.

* * *

"He's a kid." He said, as plain and as factual as how the sun burned in the skies like an angry flame.

"I know." The picture in my pocket weighed heavily once again. Jah was closest to my heart. He was my youngest brother not by blood. He was.. 

  
"Justine de Dios. Twenty two, just last July. Male. Height, 5'8"". Weight, 59 kg. Tall man, lanky build. He is flexible and agile than most people. Naive, gullible, sheltered and frankly an easy target."

"Ken." Sejun pierced his glare through me."It's a kid."

Jah- he died a kid. Barely nineteen. Now he's a living corpse. The only respect I have for his body will be in the form of doing the honor to kill him before it's too late.

"A _walking, dead_ kid." I answered back in the same hollow tone I used whenever I say their information. Sometimes I repeat it in my head to detach myself from sentiments. Most nights, they aren't enough to keep the phantoms away.

Sejun knew I was right. In the space of three, no, two seconds, his eyes burned in disgust and indignance before they extinguished into a steely resolve.

I felt him squeeze my hand. I'm trembling before I knew it. But Sejun smiled and shifted character like a second nature to him.

"Well then, let's play?"

And I, drunk on the thrill, the relief and the grief at the sight of my family's blood on my hands, I smiled back, just as manic.

Better be a cold killer. Sentiments don't bring back what's dead...

But I sure can bask in the glory of the momentary, illusionary belief that I killed what killed them with my own hands.

* * *

  
I stared at the face of the brother I once knew, and not even my prayers nor mantras nor stupid self-beliefs could stop my heart from aching and yearning.

  
Why now? I never felt this way with Stell and Josh- **_Why now_**? 

  
He's got me in an armlock, and for a moment I wanted to just let it be. If only I could escape this sudden rush of emotions that I have long buried six feet under.

If only I wouldn't have to make a choice under these sentiments.

 _Why now?_ We shouldn't have come here until I'm ready. Now, I'll be dead and I'll have to leave Sejun, to-

  
The pressure on my windpipe subsided, the rush of air in my lungs refreshing like I've been given a second shot at life.

What a waste. Then again, I couldn't complain.

Sejun dragged the other away from me and away from the stairwell that we've rolled into.

Justine de Dios. A tenant in the highest floor of a seven-storey building. He loves the number seven. Almost obsessed with it. He likes to come up to the rooftop in evenings, a cup of instant noodles in one hand.

Always, at 7:00 PM.

Unexpectedly, he put up a good fight for someone poisoned before hand. Although, it's not much of a poison as much as it is an acid strong enough to melt a corpse slowly, surely.

I got back to my feet to rush to their aid, watching Sejun's back to me as he wrestled with the kid.

Before I could reach him, I knew the boy will be dead, just watching the struggling and the defiance slowly weakened into choked spasms and pitiful seizures.

Sejun is quiet as he dully watched the skin of his face smoke and peel slightly at rhe corners of his mouth, and the crevices of his nose and eyes.

Normally, we'd be in that high by now after another mission success.

" _Langga_?" I caressed his back as I crouched next to him.

He didn't speak, only sought my hand and put it against his lips. Soft, sweet, and out of place considering the morbidity of the scene. 

"I love you." He said.

And I now get why. 

There's blood gushing from his arm, comimg from the mark of a human set of teeth.

My insides burned. The world suddenly just ended right beneath my feet. 

_My silly afterthought, I didn't know we'll soon come to an end._

I hugged him so tight it must have hurt. Sejun never minded when I was rough. He always loved it. But this time, I just wanted to protect him from the world, from everything, from myself. 

Heavens, please don't do this to me.

"It's okay." Discreetly, I drew a line on my elbow until it bled. He didn't notice. "It's okay, _langga_ , it's okay."

I pulled back, taking all of me to stare at his face. One more time. One last time. 

_Please, not now._

_**Why now?!** _

"See?" I showed him my arm that's bleeding. "Sabay tayo, okay?" I told him. I held him tenderly, cupping his cheeks and resting our foreheads together.

His tears began to fall, and it was the most painful thing I ever felt more than any injury and near-death experiences. I knew it would hurt, and I have thought I've already resigned to it coming one day, because for a long time, I knew and he didn't.

But not this much. I never knew it felt like dying slowly, unfathomably slowly.

My hands shook as I handed him the dagger. He pursed his lips, gritting his teeth together so hard that I could hear it. I picked another for mine.

For an eternity, I stared into his deep amber-colored hues. He looked ethereal with the wind blowing against his soft hair and the moonlight tracing his plump cheeks and pink lips. This was the man _I loved._

I screamed it against the prayers and mantras that now taunted me in my mind. This was my heart, my soul. My life. My reason.

"Say my name, love." I whispered, and it was me begging, on my knees praying it wouldn't have to be this way. There's still hope. I still hoped. I hoped for the longest time, anyway. _So, please.._

"Ken.. _Ken_." He called me. First, a mumble. Second, much more firmer. He called me and I heard him say it in the voice that I loved the most. 

And I broke with it, over and over and over again.

I leaned closer to him, whispering my words until I could go crazy with it. "I love you, I love you... I love you.. I love you. I love you. _I love you so much_." 

"I love you too, _langga_. Ken, I love you." 

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

"Ke- Ken? Wha-"

_Thud. Thud._

_**Thud**_.

  
Six times, I counted.

Five times, he heaved his breaths.  
Four times, he clawed weakly at me.  
Three seconds, before he slumped to the ground.  
Two.. a pair of amber eyes I loved for the first time, and for the second time.

One. One truth I never got to say him. 

"Sejun Nase. Real name, John Paulo Nase. Twenty five, male. Height, 5'8". Weight, 58 kg. A virgo-"

I sat numbly on the cold concrete, two dead bodies unmoving on either side of me.

"- the most handsome man in my eyes. A musician who loves his guitar, a stunning genius. A singer. Writer. Loves the rain. Loves the winter. Loves hotdogs and coffee and 'sinigang' all too much. My-"

A hiccup made its way past my throat, clogging my airways. I wished I could choke right then and there. I wished terribly.

"My heart, my soulmate. My beginning, my end, _my silly afterthought-_ I.. I love you, so, so much."

I'm not Ken, don't you remember? I'm **Felip Jhon**. I'm yours. I'm always yours. _Don't you remember?_

Why didn't you remember?

The rain poured. There are no stars when I looked up.

John Paulo, Sejun.. He loved the rain. He loved holding my hand through it. And so I did, if only for one more time.

One last time.


	4. [Rebooting]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think it's over, do you?

**[Rebooting…]**

We've been going on for hours now, but I can last all day long. They do nothing but ask me questions anyway, repetitive and going around in circles. They try to trick me with some of them, too.

They're really a clever bunch. Clever than most. Cleverer than _Jay Cullen Santos_ , even.

I've been in capture for.. three, four months by now. If Sejun- if Paulo were here, I wouldn't be in this mess. He was the smart one. He was my rock; my reason. Now he's gone from me the second time-

"Do you know anyone by the name of Stellvester Q. Ajero?" 

Oh, he's dead a long time ago. He was my bestfriend, my older brother. My friend. My sunshine.

"Did you kill him?"

No, the virus did. I did kill Lester Q. Ajero. Now, that's one thing I would not deny.

It's no use, after all. I'm in their den.

"Do you know anyone by the name of Josh Cullen Santos?" The doctor tried again, patiently, like he hadn't repeated the question for over five times now.

He's dead, too. Next to Stell, actually. My rival, my oldest brother, my friend, my pillar and role model. Josh was the man I hoped to become. Strong, wise, patient.

Jay Cullen Santos was nothing but a sly bastard though. A cunning, sly bastard. I killed him, too.

"What about Justin de Dios?" 

I flinched. Justin was my youngest brother, my company, my corny, immensely creative, hardworking, and fiercely loyal friend. 

Justine did him dirty. He deserved it.

"And do you know someone by the name of John Paulo Nase?"

I glared defiantly at him. He spoke his name so coldly, nonchalantly. No, it doesn't deserve to be uttered that way. **_Never_**. 

Not even Sejun. I loved him, too. I killed him, yes, but I loved him. I loved that man twice and I would love to cut out the tongue of this doctor-

He held his hand up. 

"You are speaking your thoughts. You do know this?"

Oh, they can read minds now?? _Perfect_.

They always looked at me different whenever I spoke about their statuses. The infected. The fourth wave. The slightly more intelligent walking corpses. I'd like to think I got to their nerves.

Good. 

The truth hurts anyway.

"Do you confess to the murders of these four people?"

Sure thing. It's the least I could do. I wouldn't want them to die like savages when the infection takes over them.

I tuned them out after that. It's all the same, boring monologue anyway. I said my confessions, if by confessions they meant invading the privavy of my own mind. But I don't want them to think I'll just bend over and confess to crimes I didn't commit.

Drunk driving? Hell? Property damage? Endangering the lives of four other passengers, brainwashing one of the victims with a medically-diagnosed amnesia into an accomplice before going on to conduct a killing spree and finishing all said victims?

  
What madness are those things? If they planned to insert a false memory into me, they could at least try harder, no?

By the end of the session, the doctor forced me to listen once again. "These are quite heavy crimes.. but with these results, you are fit to plead insanity."

"I AM NOT **INSANE**!" 

I won't be called insane. Not by these walking corpses. Not by anyone.

For the first time I had the strong urge to get out of my shackles again, rattling the chains and the screws bolted to the steel floor.

The doctor finally showed something else than the disgusting smugness. He flinched back, but oh, I saw the fear in his eyes.

"Okay. That's enough for today."

I smiled at him. I won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know there's this rare mental disorder that makes people think that they themselves are basically zombies or the undead? It's called Cotard's delusion, or Cotard's syndrome. It is most commonly known as "walking corpse syndrome".
> 
> Did you also know that there's another rare psychological condition where sufferers have an irrational belief that someone they know or recognize has been replaced by an imposter? It's called Capgras Delusion, or Capgras Syndrome. It's other term is "imposter syndrome."
> 
> These are rare but real mental conditions, and I took a large amount of inspiration from those. However, THIS FICTION STORY DOES NOT, IN ANY WAY REFLECT NOR ACCURATELY DEPICT THE SUBJECTS AT HAND. Sufferers of these conditions are real people who need legitimate help and understanding, not fear.
> 
> The most research I did was it's meaning in google. And I have taken lots of liberty by adding my twists and turns to these subjects at hand. So again, this is a fiction story and it does not, and should not mirror the exact, real situations regarding these subjects.
> 
> With that out of the way, hi! How was it??? Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked this one.
> 
> Happy SeKen sailing!


End file.
